Chapter 8
Glen Finnan - Monday August 19th 1745
The squall moved on as quickly as it had come. A brilliant rainbow briefly leapt from one side of the glen clear to the other. The morning sun, which had only just cleared the hills to the northeast, disappeared behind a cloud as quickly as it had cleared the last. The marching column of men, perhaps two hundred or so clad in the green of Clanranald, halted and then spread out protectively around their leaders. Their chieftain, of Morar, had the single eagle feather of the duin’-uasal, or chief of a subordinate family, on his bonnet with the sprig of purple heather of Clan Donald behind it. He despatched lookouts to the surrounding hilltops and then addressed the slim man at his side, "Your Highness, this is Glen Finnan, appointed by Lochiel and Clanranald as the tryst.”
The Prince seemed unimpressed. He took a draught from his silver brandy flask and handed it back to the servant behind him. They stood on a smooth-topped knoll overlooking the flood-plain at the head of Loch Shiel. Below them flowed the Finnan on its noisy way towards the loch. Above them, rose high, craggy mountains, daunting and hostile except to the men of these glens. The Prince's silken hose were wet and soiled, his fine shoes scuffed and a silver buckle hung loosely. His few companions Irish and Lowland Scots exiles in French service were already grumbling. They had landed on a barren shore almost a month earlier from the French privateer Le du Teillay. The voice of the Irishman O'Sullivan could clearly be heard as he argued with the Duke William of Atholl.
Among the Prince's escort, prominent in their dark red tartan were Rob MacGregor and his cousin James Mòr. Tall, broad shouldered men, they waited quietly and unobtrusively. They stood some distance apart from the rest of the gathering, having been earlier introduced to the Prince by his secretary John Murray of Broughton. Rob and James Mòr had been sent by Glengyle to be present at the raising of the standard. Rob's commission was to observe the numbers who would declare. In his sporran, he had Glengyle's letter, pledging the Clan Gregor would rise. The letter was carefully written. Clan Gregor itself was not mentioned. Should the letter fell into Government hands it would have no value as evidence against the Clan. Rob was to judge whether or not this expedition would attract sufficient support from the Lochaber clans before he would commit Clan Gregor to the cause. James Mòr, an intensely proud and bold man, had insisted on accompanying Rob to Glen Finnan. Rob feared that James Mòr would have felt slighted when Glengyle delegated himself to go to Lochaber. James Mòr was normally a welcome companion, a fast mover on the march, keen eyed and with a sixth sense for the dangers of the road. Rob was aware of undefined concerns regarding James Mòr, nothing specific but just enough doubts about his interests and motivation. The two men stood, quietly, observing the scene about them.
James Mòr raised the matter himself. “Rob you may have heard tales about my dealings with the government.”
Rob looked at him in surprise, “Well there are rumours.” he replied. “Glengyle has said he is not prepared to believe them. I am surprised you should raise this matter.”
“There is more than you know,” James Mòr said. “I implore you to keep quiet about what I have to tell you. The Duke of Perth has asked me to pass information to Robert Craigie in the guise of a government agent in the Jacobite camp. The Duke wishes me to relate to him such information as we wish them to know. Also, I am charged to identify the real government spies who have wormed their way into our counsels. This is why the Duke was anxious I come here with you. The Duke feels Glengyle should not be informed at present as he might feel the honour of his family was impugned in some way. I would wish you that respect his wishes and do not inform Glengyle. I tell you this so that my actions in the future may be understood by you. My zeal for the cause of his Royal Highness is as great as your own.”
They continued their quiet discussion. Almost two hours or so passed and the mountain ridges still looked as lonely as ever while Charles waited as one uncertain of his fate. At length Lochiel and his Cameron regiment appeared, preceded by their pipers. This body amounted to eight hundred men. Closely following were three hundred clansmen of the Keppoch MacDonalds. They advanced in two lines, having between them a company of redcoat prisoners. Lochiel climbed the last few yards to the small plateau, an oasis of smooth close-cropped grass with a flat-topped, rocky outcrop amid a desert of rough heather and rock at the head of the glen.
"Your Grace,” began Lochiel as he came up to the Prince and his entourage, "Your pardon for our delay. We were held up by having to march at the speed of these gentlemen." He motioned at the sullen red-coated prisoners. “Tirnadris encountered these at the High Bridge over the Spean. Though he had only eight men they made such a din with muskets and slogans that the English ran like sheep, leaving their muskets and baggage behind. I was with Glengarry and Keppoch some miles up the road and stopped their flight to Kilcumein. There was no fight in them whatever. If all of Cope's men are like these then your father shall soon be King. Their Captain Scott is wounded and is being tended at Achnacarry. Here, also, is Captain Swetenham of Guise’s, who was apprehended by Keppoch last Wednesday, Captain Thomson and Lieutenants Ferguson and Rose."
Charles eyed the dejected and bedraggled soldiers. "Well done, Lochiel,” he cried. "This day is brighter than it appeared before.”
Having given orders for the care of the prisoners, the much augmented group of leaders continued to debate their strategy. Their men stood about in their groups, steam rising from wet plaids, as the sun, higher and warmer in the sky, shone down. Black clouds loomed in the west, the blue around the sun in the southeast diminished.
William, Marquis of Tullibardine and Duke of Atholl in the Jacobite peerage, unfurled the royal standard of white, blue and red silk. Rob remembered that Tullibardine had been an exile from Scotland due to his involvement in previous risings. Thoughts of the fiasco of Glenshiel in 1719, not far from here, went through his mind. Clanranald and Old Lochiel had been there too, as well as Rob Roy, the father of James Mòr.
The Duke read out the manifesto of the Old Chevalier, de jure King James VIII and III. Then he continued to read aloud the King’s commission appointing ‘Our dearest son, Charles, Prince of wales, to be our sole regent of our kingdoms of England, Scotland and Ireland and of all our other dominions’.
The rain began again. The assembled clansmen shuffled about, arranging their breacanan fheilidh. The young prince addressed them in English, although the language was incomprehensible to most of his dripping listeners. He asserted his father’s title to the throne and claimed that he had come for the happiness of his people. He had chosen this part of the kingdom to commence his enterprise because he knew that he could find a population of brave gentlemen, zealous as their noble predecessors for their own honour and the rights of their sovereign and as willing to live and die with him, as he was willing, at their head to shed the last drop of his blood.
Alasdair MacLeod of Raasay stood forward with his following and stated that he renounced his dependence on his chief. Raasay would no longer acknowledged Ruaridh Ruadh of Dunvegan as chief and would follow the Prince.
Rob had made his mind up. His father had told him to look for Lochiel's full strength. Clanranald, Glengarry and Keppoch were out, along with Stewart of Ardshiel. There had been no sign of the Skye men, Clan Donald and Clan Leod. To be sure they were needed for success but this was a start. He looked at James Mòr, who nodded his head. Rob stepped forward. "Your Highness,” he began. His throat felt suddenly dry. The veins pounded in his head. After a hesitation, he began again, "Your Highness, I have the authority, here from MacGregor of Glengyle, to declare the Clan Gregor will follow this standard." He paused, "God save the King.”
The Prince nodded his head towards Rob. Lord George stepped forward and took his hand. He thanked him for his attendance, and looked forward to meeting once more with Glengyle and his men.
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