Chapter 20
Glasgow - Thursday September 26th 1745
The rain came down in torrents. The dark sky held little promise of improvement. The band of Highlanders stood on the exposed knoll of Garthamlock, breacan feile wrapped around to provide a little shelter. To the east could be seen several small lochs; they were grey reflecting the sky and flecked with white wave-caps. There was hardly a tree in sight, just the bare muir and to the south lay an evil looking bog. Near by stood Provan House, a pretty little place but tightly barricaded against the Highland brigands. Some four miles away to the west, clearly seen from this vantage was the town of Glasgow. Some 17000 people lived it it but not a recruit could be had there for the Prince.
Rob shaded his eyes from the driving rain as he looked again to the East. Piquets had been posted. He would be warned soon enough should the expected horsemen appear in sight.
Glengyle had returned to the Highlands with the injured, very soon after the battle. Now he had returned with new recruits as well as some of those who had returned home to hide their booty. He looked grey and strained. He had been requested to bring these men to the Royal army encamped around Edinburgh, but Rob had intercepted him and brought word that they were to provide an escort for an attempt to dun the town of Glasgow. He had met up with Rob a little earlier and made their way together to the appointed trysting place. "The ear looks bonny, Rob,” he said. “Jean was most concerned, but I told her it was barely a scratch.”
Rob had come directly from the capital, exultant after the success at Gladsmuir. An angry scab marked Rob’s ear. A musket ball had sliced off the lower part of his earlobe. It still ached a little, but he was thankful that he was not numbered among the twenty-four Gregarach more seriously injured in that conflict.
What news of your brother?" Glengyle asked.
John MacGregor of Glengyle had been arrested by a party of infantry visiting Glen Gyle House in January before the rising. They had a warrant for the arrest of Gregor Glun Dubh, under the name of James Graham of Glengyle, who was fortunately from home. There were no grounds for John’s arrest, but, frustrated in their design, they took him anyway and warded him in the State prison of Edinburgh Castle.
"The castle still holds out," Rob replied. "We offered honourable terms, and we have tried to scale the walls by night, to no avail. The Prince desires to advance into England and has not the patience to reduce the castle. I privately ascertained that Iain is well, but we shall not see him released.”
They waited on the hilltop. The rain eased off, and the sky began to lighten a little. A band of horsemen were observed, picking their way along the miry track that was the highway from Edinburgh. A hazy sun briefly glanced through the clouds.
Sir John Hay of Restalrig reined his horse to a halt. His scarlet cloak was sodden and travel stained. His velvet breeches spattered with mud and dung. His fashionable hat would not be fit to grace Parliament Hall again. He was a Writer to the Signet and Advocate in the Supreme Court. H had a fine house in Edinburgh and a modest estate outside. He looked askance at the wild Highlanders stationed around the little hilltop. He had his own purse at his belt, not too full perhaps, but vulnerable nonetheless.
"Greetings, Glengyle,” he said. "I understand that you are to assist me in Glasgow.”
"Aye," Glengyle responded. This man was the embodiment of Lowland law that had so persecuted his clan. "Nae doubt, you will need some assistance. Now for the business in hand, Rob tells me that this is to be a civil affair."
"Quite so," Restalrig answered. "We do not wish to apply undue coercion. The Prince was quite emphatic. He wished a willing contribution of the merchant’s money and a levy of their citizens as recruits."
The party combined and faced towards the prosperous little city some four miles to the west. Restalrig had brought a dozen of the Prince's cavalrymen. Their long government-issue dragoon pistols sat in holsters at their saddlebows. Alongside their horses trotted the band of Gregarach, their plaids steaming, all well armed, by courtesy of the unfortunate General Cope.
They came in by the Gallowgate to the old Cross of Glasgow. Ahead of them stretched the Trongate, with its fine new stone houses, recently erected by the prosperous tobacco merchants of the city. To the left lay the Saltmarket and in the distance the masts of trading ships berthed at the Broomielaw dock. To the right was the old cathedral of St Mungo, with its two hundred and twenty-five foot spire surmounted by a weathercock.
Restalrig dismounted before the tolbooth. Glengyle motioned his men to find defensive positions where they could be assured against surprise. Rob, with Calum Og at his side, stood by a large stone house whose upper stories supported by columns at street level formed a piazza. The windows fronting the street displayed pieces of lace finery and glass trinkets.
The Provost, Master Andrew Cochrane, clad in his scarlet robes and bushy white wig with his chain of office around his neck emerged from the tolbooth. Several other offcials escorted him. Restalrig was well known to him.
"Aye, Restalrig,” he began. "You keep strange company this day. How can we be of service?"
"You will have received letters from his Royal Highness, Prince Charles, Regent to His Majesty King James, requesting that the public money be delivered to me. In addition, we would greatly appreciate a contribution from your wealthy friends of the Virginia tobacco trade. The Prince expressly commands that you deliver to me all arms and ammunition held in this Burgh. And, of course, he would welcome the support and aid of your citizens in arms."
The Provost cleared his throat. He looked round at his officials, the Dean of Guild and Deacon Convenor. "Well,” he began. "Your Prince asks in his letter for the sum of fifteen thousand pounds. That would be guid Scots coin, nae doubt.”
"Sterling,” Restalrig responded, briefly.
There was an awkward silence. "Man, that is a fearful sum, there is nae so much cash in the toon.”
Glengyle interjected here, "My men would soon find it if you deny it.”
"Er, quite so,” Cochrane gulped. “Man, how aboot three thousand."
"Ten now and the public money, and we will be back for the rest,” Restalrig stated.
The Provost turned to his fellow councillors. He looked at the treasurer, arrayed in elaborate and expensive robes of office. They whispered together. "Man,” Cochrane addressed Restalrig, "I telt ye, there is nae so much. I can offer five."
Restalrig looked around at his companions and then back at the provost, "Five thousand pounds sterling, in gold coin, not promissory notes. You shall also deliver all the public money in your treasury. It is to be delivered up within the hour. As you have short-changed us in this matter, I demand sufficient clothing and footwear from your warehouses to clothe our army. This is to be provided on carts and taken to Edinburgh, on pain of burning your pretty little town. You will show these men where the arms and ammunition are stored, starting at the Watch House there.”
Restalrig then requested recruits for the Prince’s army. There was a silence, broken by a crack from the Deacon convenor. "Weel man, there are fine strapping men of the same mind as yourselves along in the Toon's Hospital there and ye can help yourselves frae the Bridewell gaol in the Drygate.”
The Town's hospital was intended to provide shelter for the sick and elderly. The building had only recently been completed. The town council were very proud of the new accommodation provided in it for madmen.
Rob, standing listening to this exchange, felt a tug at his arm. Calum Og indicated a man approaching them. Rob turned to face him.
"Greetings, Bardowie,” he said to his uncle.
John Hamilton of Bardowie, brother to Rob's mother was a merchant in Glasgow. He had an interest in a small Cambric mill by the River Kelvin which produced fine linens. His wild cousins were seldom a topic of polite discussion, although three of Rob's brothers sailed on the trading ships in which he owned shares. "So, the pirate comes to the city,” he said to Rob. “Will you reduce us to penury, or do
we have to join your Prince in his wild rebellion. Can you not find yourself a profitable venture, such as your brothers have in the West India trade?"
Rob flushed, his hand on his broadsword hilt, his honour offended. Glengyle walked over to where they stood. "My greetings to you, good brother. Mary requested that I pay my compliments to you. Perhaps you could offer us refreshment rather than insult. It has been a dreich day.”
It was Bardowie's turn to feel honour impugned. He was fond of his sister and could not refuse hospitality to her husband. He made to return to his house in Miller Street. Glengyle issued instructions to his men, and turned, with Rob beside him, to follow his brother-in-law.
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