Chapter 15
The Fords of Frew - Friday September 13th, 1745
Rob and James Mòr stood with their party and cheered the remainder of the Clan Gregor regiment as it splashed its way through the ford. Close behind came Lochiel’s Camerons. The Prince and his staff were some way behind. The Highland army, now numbering three thousand five hundred, had crossed the barrier of the Forth into Southern Scotland. Only Colonel Gardiner’s dragoons barred the way to Edinburgh.
Rob fretted. They had been standing here at Frew for hours. It was already late afternoon. The army had been well dispersed along the road from Dunblane to Doune. Some had just arrived at Doune when commanded to continue on to Frew. Provisions and money were short. Hungry men looking for food did not march well. There had been time enough for the dragoons to recover from their fright and time to find a new position to defend against their progress.
Twenty-five of the Clan Gregor regiment had been left as garrison of Doune Castle with their prisoners. There were now one hundred and eighty-five men under Glengyle and Glencarnaig. Stewart of Ardshiel with seventy men had been detailed to join them.
The signal was given to continue the march. Once again Clan Gregor had the vanguard. Lochiel’s Camerons followed. Soon the sheer face of the castle of Stirling lay before them though out of cannon range. They now lay at the house of Seton of Touch, two miles west of the castle. Rob looked back. The army was much strung out behind them. A man approached, clearly a gentlemen from his clothing. He introduced himself, “I am Seton of Touch. May I ask of whom I have the pleasure?”
Glengyle answered, bowing briefly. “Gregor MacGregor of Glengyle at your service, by the authority of His Majesty, King James and Charles, the Prince Regent. This is my cousin, Robert of Glencarnaig. Here is my good friend Cameron of Lochiel.”
“Well, gentlemen, it is my pleasure to offer the hospitality of my little estate. Though I would ask of you the small favour of your protection from thieves who would take my breeding stock from off the hill. I would not suggest that your soldiers would behave so, but armies often carry those of less repute in their wake. There is a meadow before the house where your regiments would be welcome to encamp this night.”
A messenger had arrived from the army command. The Prince had decided to spend the night at Leckie House, barely a mile from the Fords of Frew. Glengyle and Lochiel were requested to remain were they were until the army could be formed up for the advance in the morning. Glengyle and Lochiel indicated that they would both be pleased to accept of the hospitality that Touch was prepared to offer.
The morning of September 14th arrived. A clear bright day presaged. The Clan Gregor and Clan Cameron had dined well on the hospitality of the Touch estate. Glengyle, Lochiel and their officers were taking their leave of Touch and his lady. Rob heard the sound of a musket shot from the woodlands behind the house.
Before Rob could speak, the laird of Touch flared. “I would remind you gentlemen that you gave your word that your men would not commit depredations on my young stock if I entertained you and yours. I fear that your men are indulging in that very activity. My wife thought more of your honour, though I warned her of what would happen.” Seton was clearly angry and not afraid to express his anger, despite facing almost a thousand of the Highland army.
“I would warrant that it was not a MacGregor. I shall tell you the Camerons are shooting sheep upon the hill,” Glengyle exclaimed.
“And I, God forbid that a Cameron would offend his chief’s command so, it is a MacGregor,” Lochiel answered.
“I shall lay forfeit one hundred guineas that it is not the MacGregors,” Glengyle responded.
“Well then,” Lochiel answered, “if it is a Cameron, I shall shoot him and forfeit one hundred guineas to you.”
“And I shall shoot him if a MacGregor and pay one hundred guineas to you,” Glengyle answered. “Come Rob, James and Ranald for witnesses.”
With that the officers of both regiments strode up through the trees behind Seton house. The irate laird followed them. They cleared the shelter of the trees and nearby on the open moor rising to the Touch hills, they saw a man dressed in Cameron tartan with a sheep on his back. Lochiel raised his musket and fired. The man dropped, injured in the shoulder.
“Hang him from that tree,” Lochiel ordered. “Come Glengyle, we shall proceed further. I’ll warrant there’ll be a MacGregor at the same game.”
Though they marched to the summit with its breathtaking view westwards across the carse of the Forth to Ben Lomond and eastwards, past Stirling to the Castle Rock of Edinburgh and the wide Firth of Forth. They found no more poachers.
“You have the advantage of me, Glengyle. Will you accept my signature for the wager?” Lochiel said grimly.
“I value your friendship above your money, Lochiel,” Glengyle answered. “You have killed the man who impugned your honour. Let us forget the wager and remain as firm allies in our expedition.”
They shook hands on the matter and proceeded down hill to Seton House. The rest of the army had come up to their overnight camp. Lochiel detailed a company to remain behind until the army had passed in order to protect the property of Seton of Touch from further depredation. Once more Lochiel and Glengyle took the van as the army proceeded on its way.
The Prince ordered his small cavalry force to go ahead in order to reconnoitre the road to Edinburgh. The foot continued by Cambusbarron and close to Stirling Castle. The Prince and his staff accompanied the leaders of the vanguard. The Prince, clad in Highland dress was on foot. His mounted staff followed a little distance behind, leading the Prince’s own mount.
Rob looked up at the towering ramparts of Stirling castle surmounting the sheer rock. The windows glittered. The Hanoverian standards billowed in the wind. He could see heads looking down from the embrasures of the wall. A puff of smoke appeared. Before he heard the sound of the discharge there was a crash, as if thunder. The ball landed a little short of the column, throwing up earth and stones, some of which showered Rob. Behind, a staff-officer’s horse bolted. Rob and his kinsmen watched in amusement as the officer came within an ace of being thrown, before recovering control of his mount.
Another cannonball raised a cloud of dust. Rob looked back. The ball had fallen almost in the same spot but a little shorter than before. By now the front of the Cameron regiment was passing the aiming point. A third passed directly overhead and hit a tree beyond the column. Rob listened for the next shot, but heard no more. He said to James Mòr “we must be out of range.”
“That must be the most powerful cannon they have. Perhaps the gunner overcharged the last discharge to increase the range. If he has not fired again he may have burst the barrel.” James Mòr answered.
The mounted detachment returned, reporting that Gardiner’s and Hamilton’s squadrons of dragoons had positioned themselves across the line of the army’s march at Bannockburn. The column halted. Staff officers rode backwards and forwards, commanding the army to form into line of battle formation. There was much confusion.
James Mòr said “There will be bruised pride unless Lord George puts Glengarry and the rest of Clan Donald on the right. O’Sullivan is giving Ardshiel’s regiment the place of honour.”
Time passed. Finally, the army was ready. The Clan Gregor had been positioned in the centre of the first line. The Prince and his staff were nearby. Glengyle ordered Rob to be his liaison officer with the army command.
The slow advance continued up the hill on either side of the old road. There was no sign of the dragoons. The army halted again and the horse detachment sent out once more to reconnoitre.
More time passed. The afternoon drew on before the cavalry returned. With them came several gentlemen on horseback.
“Your Highness,” Rob heard the leading gentleman report. “I am Sir Hugh Patterson of Bannockburn. The dragoons have retreated. We believe that they have run to Falkirk. I would count it a great honour if you would consent to visit my house this day.”
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sp; The Prince agreed and mounting his horse trotted off with the rest of the staff after Patterson. Glengyle was ordered to detach some of his most handsome men to mount guard around Bannockburn House. He delegated the duty to Rob, suggesting that he should catch up later. Rob fretted. They should have reached Edinburgh by now.
The rest of the army, apart from the vanguard, was commanded to forage for their provisions. Due to the risk of their being overwhelmed by dragoons, no party should number less than a full company and they should carry sufficient firearms to ensure defence. Their depredations should be restricted to the lands of the enemies of the Prince. In order to control private looting, the example of the executed Cameron and several others were advertised among the regiments. The staff appointed quartermasters to accompany the forage parties. Receipts in the name of King James were to be given for all livestock or grain than the foragers requisitioned. Lochiel and Glengyle were commanded to continue with the vanguard on to Falkirk.
After attending to the disposition of the guard detachment, Rob was summoned to Sir Hugh’s house. He was ushered into the salon. “Sir Hugh, “ the Prince said, taking hold of Rob’s arm, “may I present the brave man, who with a few of his friends, captured two defended fortresses and drove off the dragoons at Frew.”
Rob blushed with embarrassment. He felt like a nine year old again, not thirty-five! He demurred, “‘Twas little enough. There were but a handful asleep at Inversnaid and the bailiff Edmonstoun presented us with the keys of Doune.”
He looked around the room. A woman gazed directly at him. He met her gaze, briefly, then let his eyes drop in confusion. What a beauty. She raised her fan, hiding her lower face. Still her eyes observed him. As he left, he asked an attendant for the name of the lady. “Clementina Walkinshaw, Sir Hugh’s niece,” he was informed.
Rob was glad to be out in the open air again. The afternoon was wet but mild. The clansmen who guarded Sir Hugh’s mansion stood under the trees. They had arranged their plaids over both shoulders as shelter against the rain. Rob left instructions that they should make their best speed to meet up with the rest of the clan when the Prince and the staff left Sir Hugh’s house.
Rob took a horse. Within an hour, as the sun slowly dropped in the west, he had covered the ten miles to Falkirk where the vanguard now lay. “What news? He asked his father as he dismounted.
“The dragoons continue to posture and threaten.” Glengyle answered. “Lord George ordered Lochiel’s and our regiment to bring them to battle, but they run whenever we come within musket range. Now they are hiding in Falkirk village. Glencarnaig went in but has not reported back to me. I want you to find him. Lord George has commanded that I remain here to wait for more of the army to arrive.”
Rob soon came up with Evan, Glencarnaig’s brother. He and his men were searching the town. Every house had to be checked for an ambuscade by the dragoons.
A man, dressed in the bloody apron of a flesher, came out on to the deserted street. He waved them to a halt. He spoke in Gaelic. “It is long since I saw the colours of Clan Gregor. I am one of your own, though I cannot proclaim my ancestors here in the low country. I would inform you, though terrible for my family would be the consequence if this be known, that there are arms stored in a magazine at the House of Callendar over yonder. They were delivered three days ago for the town guard. The dragoons left the town as you entered upon it. I would warrant they have all departed”
Evan thanked the man and ordered that they should investigate his news.
Rob accompanied Evan’s men as they hastened up to the House. It appeared deserted. Rob went around to the rear. “Evan,” he called. “There is a coach-house, the door lies open and there are carriages within.”
Behind the carriages under canvas covers lay the reported arms. The inventory amounted to fifty new muskets with ample ball and powder and twenty broadswords besides. Evan ordered his men to load the weapons into one of the carriages. Another canvas-covered mound lay at the very rear of the coach house. Rob pulled away the coverings. “Robin,” he called out to Robin Oig, youngest son of Rob Roy, “you have served in Flanders, what is this gun?”
Robin Oig came over to examine the find. “This is a light cannon. I believe it is called a falconet. It is old but cast in brass and does not rust. It fires a one-pound ball about 800 paces. The calibre is too small to do much damage with round shot but it could be used to fire grape shot against infantry. It would be light enough for us to take with us. This is only the barrel. Is there a limber for it?”
“Hark at the military man,” Robin’s elder brother Ranald joked. “What is a limber and how shall we know when we find one?”
“A limber is simply a gun carriage. It may appear to be just two wheels with an axle. No coachwork above and a shaft with a yoke for the horse,” Robin answered.
Evan pointed out that such a carriage lay on the far side of the coach-house. It took only a little time to push the limber over to the barrel.
Ranald tried to lift the gun. “Robin, I thought you said this was light! I cannot lift it. Come here and assist.”
he barrel was around 45 inches in length and weighed about four hundred pounds. Four men were needed to lift it onto the limber. Robin Oig fastened the shackles and bolts which secured the barrel to the limber. Rob brought in a horse. Quickly the traces were secured and the horse was persuaded to drag the gun out into the open courtyard.
“We have a gun, but there is no ammunition.” Robin Oig said.
“Not so,” Evan announced. “Here are boxes of iron balls.
Robin oig examined them. “Yes, these are two inch calibre solid shot. Each one weighs one pound. They will be suitable for our falconet. Also we have four barrels of new corned powder suitable for charging our Royal artillery piece. It is a pity there does not appear to be any canister shot.”
Evan detailed several men to drive the commandeered coaches and the gun limber. They made there way from the house to rejoin the army as it prepared to leave Falkirk.
Still Gardiner and Hamilton would not stand and fight. However, the near presence of the dragoons prevented foraging except in considerable force. The little army had to remain in formation and ready to fight at a moments notice. The speed of the advance was thus reduced. With every step, they moved farther from the refuge of the hills. The sun was near to setting when a mounted scout reported that Gardiner’s regiment were at Linlithgow some eight miles ahead.
That night Rob and the rest of the regiment encamped in the fields around Callendar House. The Prince and his staff arrived after sunset and were spending the night in the house. Food was still short, though the Commissariat had requisitioned provisions from the town.
Rob dozed, his plaid gathered about him, his bed an armful of freshly fallen autumn leaves. This was little different from the hardihood of droving life. He dreamed of Jean back in Stronachlachar. It was strange how her face and that of Clementina Walkinshaw seemed to coalesce. Jean dressed as Clementina in a low gown just covering her lily-white bosom. Or Clementina dressed in Jean’s homespun dress. An arm shook him from his dreams.
“Come, Rob, raise your men. We have business,” his father said.
Rob opened his eyes. The stars glimmered overhead. The waning moon bathed the grass in its pale light. The thinning autumn canopies of the trees cast weird shadows where the moonlight penetrated.
“What is it? Is Gardiner upon us?” queried Rob, leaping up and donnin his plaid. The cold of the ground had penetrated his muscles. He shook himself and slapped his palms against his thighs. Quickly he threw on his sword belt and adjusted the brace of pistols at his side.
“No, but we can be upon Gardiner if we make speed. Lord George has commanded ourselves and Lochiel with Glengarry to make all haste in silence to Linlithgow, to put an end to his devices.”
So it was that at two in the morning, the advance guard of the army trotted at a brisk pace in the darkness. The high road from Stirling to Edinburgh, though potholed and m
iry was well defined and easy to follow even in the darkness. At the expense of more than one bruised ankle, it was long before dawn that the Palace of Linlithgow was surrounded on all sides. Glengyle had been commanded to investigate the partly ruinous Palace that showed the sad signs of a century and a half of neglect, since its royal residents departed for the south. Before the entrance, were recent signs of many horses. The double gates stood ajar. Cautiously advancing, Rob noted that there now appeared to be little sign of occupation. They entered the courtyard. The skies were beginning to lighten. Still there was nothing. Dragoons had been here but now they were gone. They lit torches and examined the interior. Nothing could be found, except half eaten food on the tables and discarded equipment here and there. There had been a hasty evacuation but the food and horse manure was cold. The dragoons had been gone for at least an hour.
Leaving his regiment at the Palace, Glengyle reported back to Lord George with the rest of the vanguard. They had enjoyed no more success. Lord George ordered them to rest and wait for the remainder of the army.
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