The Road to Culloden Moor

by Diana Preston

  So this was the man against whom Charles now pitted himself. Hawley advanced from Edinburgh. His battle-hardened army consisted of twelve battalions of regulars as well as some dragoons and the Glasgow Militia. This was a very different force from the nervous and inexperienced men chased off the field at Preston Pans. They took Falkirk, and Hawley installed himself in great comfort at Callendar House, home of the Earl of Kilmarnock. Lady Kilmarnock was horrified to have such a brutish guest billeted on her. On 15 January the Jacobite army drew itself up in battle order on Plean Moor two miles south-east of Bannockburn and waited for an attack. And they did the same on the next day. And the next. But Hawley did not come.

  Lord George Murray suggested that they should take the initiative and occupy the rough upland of Falkirk Moor two miles south-west of the enemy camp. This would put them in an advantageous position for an attack. To deceive Hawley he also proposed that Charles’s standard should be left flying on Plean Moor and that a diversionary force under Lord John Drummond should be sent up the road to Falkirk. The scheme was then for the rest of the army to make for the river Carron. There were the usual arguments about tactics between Lord George and O’Sullivan. O’Sullivan was worried the Highlanders would be spotted by the enemy if they tried to ford the river in the daytime. Lord George dismissed this saying it was quite impossible for his men to sleep in the open that night and that the Government troops were too far away to pose a threat.

  Murray was not entirely right about this. They were spotted, but Hawley’s negligence meant that nothing was done to stop their advance. Hawley was revelling in the comforts of Callendar House where his hostess was now going to great lengths to keep him entertained and, no doubt, well-liquored. She was so successful that the bleary-eyed Hawley was in no mood to be disturbed. At the news that the Jacobites were on the move he reluctantly left the great log fires of Callendar and went out into the winter’s cold. He surveyed the scene from the top of a small hill and saw nothing. That was enough for him. His arrogance was such that he did not believe Charles would dare to attack him. It was a sign of his contempt and his confidence that he did not even bother to send out cavalry patrols. Neither did he tell his men to get under arms. As far as he was concerned the Highlanders were ‘the most despicable enemy’.

  The unfortunate redcoats were taken unawares. The first they knew was when a man rushed into the camp with cries of ‘Gentlemen, what are you about? The Highlanders will be immediately upon you!’ They already had the jitters. When a hare ran through their lines one soldier ‘more ready-witted than the rest, exclaimed “Halloo, the Duke of Perth’s mother!” — it being a general belief that that zealous old Catholic lady was a witch and therefore able to assume the disguise of a hare ….’ The awful truth had finally dawned on Hawley and he rushed to his men hatless and in a savage temper, his fine dinner uneaten and ‘with the appearance of one who has abruptly left an hospitable table’. His mood was not helped by the fact that a storm was brewing and the light was fading. He made a desperate attempt to gain the high ground, ordering the cavalry followed by the foot and the artillery up towards the summit of the moor.

  As his men struggled onwards and upwards Hawley’s blood-shot eyes assessed the field of battle selected by his enemies. The hill rose steeply to a windswept plateau. Its face was a ripple of treacherous folds and ridges intersected by a deep gully. The three regiments of dragoons led the way followed by Hawley’s frontline troops — the regiments of Wolfe, Cholmondeley, Pulteney, the Royal, Price’s and Ligonier. (In those days regiments were known by the name of their colonel.) Behind them struggled the rear column, consisting of the men of Blakeney’s, Munro’s, Fleming’s, Barrel’s, Battereau’s and Howard’s.

  The rival armies squared up to each other under a darkening sky. Lord George Murray knew — literally — which way the wind was blowing. It was gusting hard from the south-west and to make sure that it would be behind the Highlanders he had made a wide detour after crossing the Carron and then marched his two parallel columns in double quick time to the breast of the hill. The lie of the land concealed the dragoons hurrying to seize the high ground from the other side in what was effectively a race. It was only when both sides were almost at the summit that they saw each other. At first the Highlanders assumed that the dragoons were just scouts but quickly realised the truth: ‘The Dragoons made several motions towards the front of Lord George’s Column, and by coming very near often Endeavour’d to draw off the highlanders’ fire but to no purpose, for they marched on until they came to a bog, and then the whole army wheel’d to the left ….’

  There was then a pause in this strange ballet lasting a quarter of an hour. The Macdonalds advanced ‘foot by foot’ giving the other regiments time to come up on their left. Lord George, fighting on foot, walked up and down the line ordering the excitable clansmen to keep their ranks and not to fire until he gave the order. This was apparently carried out ‘with as much exactness as was possible, and as sometimes one part of the line was farther advanced than the rest, they halted till the others came equal to them.’

  The right wing of the army occupied the near level ground towards the summit while the centre and left wings cascaded down the hillside. Meanwhile on the Government side, the infantry were lagging well behind the dragoons. So was the artillery train. Captain Archibald Cunningham was in charge and having a miserable time with ‘two of his biggest Guns in the front stuck in a Bog, which he could not disengage by any Endeavours he could at that time use, neither could he bring forwards any of the Guns that were behind except two 4 pounders & one 1½ pounder’. Hawley had already referred to him as ‘such a Sot and so ignorant’ that he could not see them agreeing for long. He was right. The action began before Cunningham arrived.

  The dragoons continued their attempts to ‘draw the fire, and ride in and break the Highlanders,’ but the clansmen stood firm remembering their orders from Lord George. The storm broke as the last of the Government troops trudged up the hill ‘running & quite out of breath [with] the fatigue’. The drenching rain soaked their cartridges so that when they came to fire their muskets one in four failed. Hawley’s men took up their battle position trying to make out their enemy through the driving rain. The opposing lines of foot squared up to each other with a strange symmetry. The Government infantry on the left was outflanked by half the Jacobite front-line and on the right it was pretty much vice versa. Furthermore, the Government troops on the right faced the ravine which stopped them moving around the Jacobite left flank.

  As the light faded on 17 January Hawley ordered his dragoons to attack. He had no doubt that his cavalry was more than a match for the scurvy band of bare-foot warriors and anticipated a speedy and victorious conclusion. However, as others with experience of Highlanders could have told him, this was not to be. Lord George Murray watched the dragoons advancing ‘at full trot, in very good order’ and when they were only about ten yards away raised his musket as the signal to fire. Some eighty dragoons slumped dead in their saddles. An observer recorded the carnage, especially how ‘in one part of them nearest us I saw day light through them in several places’.

  It had a devastating impact. Many simply turned and fled and Hawley saw for himself the folly of assuming that cavalry must be able to outmanoeuvre clansmen fighting on foot. Chevalier Johnstone described vivdly what happened next: ‘The most singular and extraordinary combat immediately followed. The Highlanders, stretched on the ground, thrust their dirks into the bellies of the horses. Some seized the riders by their clothes, dragged them down, and stabbed them with their dirks; several again used their pistols; but few of them had sufficient space to handle their swords. Macdonald of Clanranald … assured me that whilst he was lying upon the ground, under a dead horse, which had fallen upon him, without the power of extricating himself, he saw a dismounted horseman struggling with a Highlander: fortunately for him, the Highlander, being the strongest, threw his antagonist, and having killed him with his dirk, he came to his assista
nce, and drew him with difficulty from under his horse.’

  The sight of the fleeing dragoons was irresistible to some of the Highlanders. Ignoring Lord George Murray’s command to hold their ground two of the three Macdonald regiments — Clanranald’s and Glengarry’s — hurtled after them. It had been a fine beginning but this anarchy on the field meant a wasted opportunity and cost the Jacobites dear. The Highlanders ‘pursued the dragoons, others fell a plundering the dead; a considerable body that kept a just direction in their march, fell in with the Glasgow militia, and were employed in dispersing them’. They would have had far greater impact had they stayed on the battlefield.

  Dramatic things were happening on the Jacobite left. Incapable of reloading and returning the fire they were now under, the Highlanders launched themselves on ‘perhaps one of the boldest and finest actions, that any troops of the world cou’d be capable of’. They flung down their muskets and charged, swords aloft and yelling their battle cry. This was too much for the soldiers of Wolfe’s, Cholmondeley’s, Pulteney’s and the Royal — men who had seen and survived Fontenoy — and they ran, followed with little hesitation by the whole of the second line with the exception of Barrel’s. Hawley was appalled. Someone asked him if there were any regiments still standing and if so where they were. The General apparently made no answer — or not one that was suitable to be recorded — and as the disorder and confusion increased, rode off down the hill.

  Yet three of his regiments did stand firm and inflicted considerable damage. Moving up the hill they opened fire on the pursuing Highlanders, causing a panic made worse when Colonel Roy Stewart ‘afraid lest this might be an ambuscade … called out to the Highlanders to stop their pursuit; and the cry of stop flew immediately from rank to rank ….’ The bewildered clansmen were not sure whether to go on or stand still. Some even left the field and made for Bannockburn and Stirling with tales of a Highland defeat.

  Lord George was managing things with more discipline, leading men of Keppoch’s regiment and the Atholl Brigade down the hill ‘in perfect good order’. His sights were on the stricken Government troops ‘running off by forties and fifties to the right and left to get into Falkirk ….’ However, even after calling for reinforcements, Lord George had no more than about six or seven hundred men. The rest were scattered right across the face of the hill and could not be rallied in time to support him. So he halted at the bottom of the hill and let the Government rearguard flee pell-mell into the darkness.

  The official accounts of Hawley’s retreat were somewhat economical with the truth. They explained smoothly enough that the excessive rain had made it more sensible to leave their camp in favour of Linlithgow where the troops could be put under proper cover. ‘When we came to strike our tents, we found that many of the drivers had run off with the horses: upon which the General gave orders, that what tents were left should be burnt; which was done,’ was one virtuous explanation. However, the truth was there to be seen. When the whooping, cheering clansmen ran into the abandoned camp they found most of the tents still standing and joyfully seized ammunition, waggons and a fine haul of ‘three standards, two stand of colours, a kettledrum, many small arms, their baggage, clothing, and generally everything they had not burnt or destroyed’. To add insult to injury Charles entered Falkirk and ate Hawley’s dinner, ‘which he wanted very much’. O’Sullivan wrote an enthusiastic inventory of the ‘great many hampers of good wines, & liqors & other provisions’ found in the town. The Jacobites had advanced into Falkirk by torchlight to find the enemy gone and nothing but a few frightened stragglers to be dragged from their hiding places.

  The Battle of Falkirk only lasted about twenty minutes. The Highlanders lost about fifty dead and sixty or seventy wounded as opposed to at least three hundred dead on the Government side, probably more. One of the most distinguished of the Government fatalities was Sir Robert Monro, ‘who was heard much to blaspheme during the engagement, and as a punishment for which, his tongue was miraculously cut asunder by a sword, that struck him directly across the mouth’ as one Jacobite recorded in self-righteous tones. The Whig Press described it rather differently, reporting that poor Sir Robert had been hacked to pieces in dastardly fashion. The Highland fallen were sometimes identified by the fact that they had bannocks and other food concealed under their left armpit. With amazing cheek Hawley claimed his losses at twelve officers and fifty-five men killed and a grand total of two hundred and eighty killed, wounded, and missing.

  Charles behaved with his customary chivalry to his prisoners, who included a strange haul of bellicose Presbyterian ministers. Some had actually perished on the field like one who, ‘seeing the danger he was in of losing his life as a Soldier, had recourse to his dignity, supposing that would be a cloak to save him. “Spare my life,” said he to a Highlander, who was on the point of taking it, “for I am a Minister of My Master Jesus Christ!” To which the other ingeniously replied: “If you are a good one, your Master has need of you; if not, it’s fitting that you go and take your punishment elsewhere!” — which dilemma was immediately solved by the Highlander’s sword.’ Charles also captured a clutch of Hawley’s travelling hangmen. The latter were released on their parole. And broke it. Maxwell of Kirkconnell bewailed the morals of the age like a Fielding heroine: ‘It is true, the decay of virtue and honour in our Island since the Accession is very remarkable, and the progress and barefacedness of vice astonishing ….’ Hitherto, he mourned, a man’s word of honour had been his bond.

  The generosity with which the prisoners were treated, coupled with Charles’s success in the field, were a seductive combination, causing one prisoner to exclaim, ‘By my soul, Dick, if Prince Charles goes on this way, Prince Frederick will never be King George!’ It was also noted that Charles’s presence on the field, encouraging and praising his Highlanders, had had a visible effect on his men’s morale. According to one account he had played an active role: ‘The Prince, who was mostly in the center, and whose attention was turned to all parts, observing some regiments of the enemy’s foot, and the remainder of the dragoons, marching up the hill, put himself at the head of the Irish pickets, and such of the scattered highlanders as were nearest to him, with a few gentlemen a horse-back, and advanced to attack them. But seeing the order of the pickets, and having a great storm of wind and rain in their faces, they fled precipitantly to their camp ….’

  However, Charles suffered one unfortunate loss on his side. In the heat of the battle Macdonald of Tiendrish, the Major of Keppoch’s regiment, mistook one of Hawley’s regiments for Lord John Drummond’s. He charged into their midst with the unfortunate injunction: ‘Why don’t ye follow after the dogs and pursue them?’ The ‘dogs’ quickly made him their prisoner and nearly shot him as a spy there and then. He was reprieved but it did him little good as he was later executed at Carlisle.

  Hawley, as usual, was not in a magnanimous frame of mind. According to the stories he smashed his sword against the Market Cross in Falkirk and retreated foaming at the mouth with ‘rage and vexation’. Later that night at Linlithgow he sat down to write what must have been rather a difficult letter to Cumberland. It may also have made for confusing reading. ‘Sir, My Heart is broke. I can’t say We are quite beat today, But our Left is beat, and Their Left is beat. We had enough to beat them for we had Two Thousand Men more than They. But such scandalous Cowardice I never saw before. The whole second line of Foot ran away without firing a Shot. Three Squadrons did well ….’

  And so Hawley, looking ‘most wretchedly’, was left to withdraw to Edinburgh and to vent his spleen on cowards and deserters — he employed himself with the hanging of thirty-one of Hamilton’s dragoons for desertion and shooting thirty-two foot soldiers for cowardice. Poor Cunningham was cashiered. His sword was broken over his head, his sash cut in pieces and thrown in his face, and lastly the provost-martial’s servant ‘giving him a kick on the posteriors, turned him out of the line’. Neither were the Highlanders feeling particularly buoyant. Lord George w
as upset about the lack of discipline on the field that had caused them to miss the chance of following and really smashing the opposition. He was blamed in turn for his decision to fight on foot and for failing to bring up the right wing early enough.

  While the respective sides weighed up the significance of Falkirk the news had a sobering effect in London, although Cope was said to look remarkably cheerful. He was rumoured to have bet £10,000 that the first general sent to Scotland would be beaten. Government sources tried to twist the truth and the Whig Press weighed in. The London Gazette carried a typical blend of fact and fiction reporting that: ‘The Rebels, by all Accounts, lost many more Men than the King’s Forces, and could not improve the Advantages they had at the Beginning of the Action, but were driven Back by, and fled before a Handful of our Army, and we remain’d Masters of the Field, tho’, by the Inclemency of the Weather, and Want of Provisions, Night coming on, our Army was obliged to march to Linlithgow, and thereby abandon what Cannon and Tents they could not find Horses to carry off.’ The True Patriot carried similar reports and bewailed the fact that the rebels were able to lay their hands on Hawley’s cannon. Readers were able to temper their consternation by reading of disasters closer to home. One poor man, a plasterer apparently ‘fell through a Necessary House into the River, and was drowned, as is Mr Monkwell of Wapping’. However, the seriousness of the situation trickled through — those itch-ridden laughable savages, the Highlanders, had beaten some crack troops. They were no longer an object of derision but a threat again, and public sentiment demanded action to extinguish ‘so dangerous a Flame’.