by G. M. Best
Staggering to his feet again Jones looked around to see what had happened to the horses and was greatly relieved to see that both of them had not moved too far away, despite the noise of the fight. He moved slowly towards each of them in turn, making reassuring sounds until he could grasp their reins. He quickly secured both horses to the low-slung branch of a nearby tree. By now he was conscious that he had lost a lot of blood. The slight wound to his chest was only seeping a little, but his arm was still bleeding quite freely. He moved back to Burnett’s corpse and, opening his coat, pulled out the man’s shirt so he could rip off some material with which to temporarily bind his injury and so reduce the blood flow. Then he searched the dead man to see if he was carrying any papers on him. There was nothing. Jones moved over to Burnett’s horse and opened the bag that was strapped behind the saddle. Within it was a letter and other documents. Suddenly he felt very light-headed and it dawned on him that, unless he received treatment for his wounds, he would never get the names of the traitors into the hands of the government. But where was he to go for such help?
16
THE COUNCIL MEETING
Three hours later Tom Jones was feeling far better because not only had his wounds been properly dressed but also he had been well fed by John Littleton, to whose house he had returned. The comb-maker had listened to his account of what had happened and been more than generous in tending to his needs. Jones now felt sufficiently recovered to examine the documents that he had won. They comprised a number of sheets on which were the signatures of those who supported the restoration of the House of Stuart. Trying not to overly damage its seal, Jones gently prised open the accompanying letter, which was addressed to Lord George Murray, the main commander of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s army. Its contents revealed the peril in which the nation truly stood and, unsure what to do, Jones summoned Littleton and read him what it said:
My dear Lord George
I regret that as yet I do not stand by your side, but the time is not far removed when I will. I hope that you will take comfort from the accompanying list of names and signatures. Each person on it is now pledged to bring men and weapons in support of the prince. There are others who will also join. It has been a difficult task to win over people to support our side openly, not because they desire to keep the German usurper, but because they fear that this attempt to restore the true king will end like those before it in failure. Too many families have suffered for their past loyalty to enter into another venture without there being a strong indicator of likely success. All that is required is that your Highlanders should now continue to outmanoeuvre the government forces until they have crossed the River Trent. To have reached so far without any assistance is the proof that the English Jacobites require to convince them to rise in force. Men will be stationed so that the news of the crossing can be quickly communicated to all. Within days the prince will find his army doubled or trebled. I am certain the City will fall without even a fight.
Please convey to his royal highness my deepest love and my undying loyalty,
Henry Hyde
‘This is not good news,’ said Littleton. ‘Even though Lord Murray will now not receive this information, it is likely that the Highlanders will press on towards London. Why should they turn back when they have got so far? As soon as the army crosses the Trent the English traitors will then rally to their cause.’
‘I agree. At all costs we must stop the Highlanders from moving south of Derby!’
‘But that will require an army,’ observed Littleton, in a voice that could not hide his despair.
‘Not necessarily,’ replied Jones. ‘What if I take Burnett’s place and take the message to Lord Murray that the English Jacobites have decided not to risk supporting the prince? Surely the impact would devastate their morale and there is just a chance that they might decide to go back to their homes.’
Doubt still flickered in Littleton’s eyes. ‘But will Lord Murray believe you?’
‘He will if we rewrite this letter from Henry Hyde. It is not beyond the wit of man to forge a letter and reapply the seal so it does not look as if it has been tampered with. I did my utmost to cause minimum damage when opening it and I think I have the skills to undertake copying Hyde’s handwriting.’ He looked questioningly at the combmaker. ‘Have you the skills to mend and reapply the seal?’
Littleton cautiously nodded his assent. However, it was obvious that he remained unconvinced about the plan. He pursed his lips and then commented, ‘Even if we do this, you are injured and Derby is still a considerable distance. Can you reach Lord Murray in the time required?’
‘I have no choice but to try!’ responded Jones, his eyes alight with determination. ‘Tell me the best route that I may take because if I leave after we have forged the letter there will not be much daylight time left for the first stage of the journey. At best I will only be able to ride for maybe two hours.’
‘You can try and get as far as Nuneaton. That would leave you with almost forty miles to cover to reach Derby by tomorrow evening. No easy task for a fit man and a fresh horse let alone someone who has lost as much blood as you riding a horse that has already covered so many miles.’ Littleton paused and then said, ‘Let me go in your stead.’
Jones was deeply moved by the man’s offer, but he shook his head. ‘No, it has to be me who pretends to be Burnett. If they question me, I know enough about him to answer appropriately. You would not.’ He smiled grimly. ‘However, while I go to Derby, you could ride to Warwick on Burnett’s horse and hand the documents containing the traitors’ names to the appropriate authorities. I suspect pressure can be brought to make some of these men reconsider their position – especially if the Highlanders cease their advance southwards.’
‘That I will do,’ replied Littleton, grasping Jones’s hand.
Immediately the two men set about their purpose and within an hour they had completed the forgery. Jones then set off for Nuneaton, wishing the comb-maker all the best for his journey to Warwick. The terrain through which he passed was not too difficult for the injured man but the weather was appalling. Heavy icy rain that had threatened earlier in the day began to fall almost as soon as he set off. By the time that he reached Nuneaton he was soaked through and almost frozen with the cold. Fortunately the inn where he chose to stay had a roaring fire, good food, and a comfortable bed. Nevertheless, it took him all his determination to get up early the next morning in order to start riding as dawn was breaking. His whole body ached and the wound in his arm throbbed with pain.
For the first ten miles or so the weather stayed dry but then it began to rain, first intermittently and then incessantly. He did his best to pace his horse so only at intervals did they make good speed. Though he found this frustrating he knew he had no choice in the matter. He dared not risk his horse collapsing with exhaustion. Despite its remarkable stamina, the beast was clearly reaching the end of its capacity to sustain such relentless travelling. About three o’clock in the afternoon the rain ceased and the clouds began rolling back. This was fortunate because it meant that moonlight helped illuminate the final stages of his journey. It was entirely dark by the time that he reached the outskirts of Derby and saw the light of the newly set up Jacobite camp-fires.
Jones stopped when a sentry challenged him and, not without some difficulty after so many hours in the saddle, dismounted. He at once requested that he should be taken before Lord Murray. The Highlander did not seek to argue with him. Jones’s haggard face and the bloody evidence that he was injured offered proof enough to him that this was a genuine messenger with an important communication. Instead he nodded to Jones and, pulling a canister out of a leather bag that was attached to his belt, offered him a drink. Jones willingly accepted and a welcome warmth spread from his throat and embraced his body.
As the sentry led Jones through the camp the stars in the ink-black sky shone down on a scene that could have been taken from Milton’s description of the damned. The shadowy figures of exhau
sted men seemed to clutter the ground everywhere like drunken men after a night of carousing. As far as he could tell most wore a large and filthy plaid patterned with green and yellow and scarlet and blue. This hung over their shoulders and was fastened below the neck with either a small fork or knife. A belt gathered the material around their waists in such a way as to form a kind of petticoat that reached halfway down their thighs. Each man appeared armed with both a short dirk and a fiercesome basket-hilted and double-edged broadsword that was over a yard long. Many wore bonnets strangely adorned with a sprig of plant. Jones was later to learn that this marked to which clan they belonged and was seen as a charm against bad luck. What surprised him most was that many were without shoes or wore footwear that was next to nothing.
As he passed one of the camp-fires, he peered at those lying nearest and, through the flickering light of the flames, caught glimpses of their weary and grime-lined faces. Their obvious exhaustion bore witness to the weeks of marching, as did the state of their muddy clothes. Some slept with their swords in their hands as if ready at an instant to fight the foe that had as yet eluded them. Others looked almost child-like in their innocent slumbers, as if their mothers had tucked them to bed for the night. The few who were awake made no effort to speak to him lest they disturb their comrades. Occasionally a Highlander would stir and turn his body to seek greater comfort but for a place so packed with humanity it was eerily quiet. The only sounds he could hear was that of snoring and the gentle crackling sound made by the fires that kept the soldiers from freezing.
The man who escorted Jones led him to a man in his mid-forties who was attired in more civilized clothes. He wore trews of skin-tight tartan and over his shirt a tartan waistcoat and jacket. Over this was a plaid that fell from a silver brooch on the left shoulder. This marked him out as one of the chiefs. The two men exchanged a few words and the chief then told Jones that he should follow him. He took him to a house within which Lord Murray had taken lodgings and indicated that he should stay outside until he had spoken with the commander. A few minutes passed and then Jones was bidden to enter. He was taken into the drawing room where sat the commander who had secured the Jacobite victory at Prestonpans and so created the conditions necessary for the invasion of England.
Though still in the prime of his life, Murray looked older than his fifty or so years because of the dark circles under his eyes and his furrowed brow. The candlelight emphasized how much he had aged by picking out all the lines that had etched themselves into his features. In happier days he had been a man whose company men sought but the burden of the past months had made him increasingly morose. Jones thought that beneath his wig his face was somewhat too long and his mouth too broad for him ever to have been judged handsome, but there was still an indisputable air of authority about him and this was magnified by his military manner. His every gesture showed he was used to being in command.
‘Welcome, young man,’ he said in a voice that was deep and rich if heavy with a Scottish accent. ‘I gather that you come from Henry Hyde.’
Jones bowed nervously, his body aching with tension and his heart pounding. ‘Yes, my lord. I have a letter from him.’
‘Good. I was expecting him to send me information.’ Murray eyed Jones up and down with a precision that was unnerving. His eye took in the messenger’s very pale and strained face, his bandaged arm and blood-marked clothes, and the many signs that he had travelled long and hard. ‘But,’ he added candidly, ‘I had expected a fitter man to bring it.’
Jones dug his nails into his palms in an attempt to avoid showing that his hands were trembling. He knew this was not a man whom it would be easy to dupe. ‘There were those who tried to prevent me, my lord. My path has not been an easy one.’
‘That I can see. Give me what you have brought and then sit down before you fall down.’
For the first time Jones appreciated that beneath the military air was a kind and considerate man. He obeyed gladly because all the blood that he had lost was making him feel faint.
‘What is your name?’
‘John Burnett,’ replied Tom, without a hint of hesitation in his voice.
Murray turned to the chief who had brought him. ‘Get Mr Burnett something strong to drink and something hot to eat. He looks very much in need of it.’ To Jones’s consternation he then began examining the letter that he had been given in order to check that the seal was unbroken. Jones held his breath. Would he detect that it had been resealed? The general looked up, obviously unhappy. For a moment Jones feared he was lost. ‘You should be more careful, Mr Burnett. I know that the conditions under which you have travelled have been atrocious but you have allowed this letter to get wet by not enclosing it within a protective cloth.’
‘My apologies, my lord.’
Murray took out a knife and broke the seal. As he read the contents of the letter his face went white and the muscles at the side of his mouth twitched. He angrily turned to Jones. ‘Do you know what this says?’
‘Yes, my lord, and I wish at this moment that I was not an Englishman. Those who voiced their loyalty have turned coward. I know you have borne much to bring the prince this far south but the English Jacobites are refusing to take up arms because of the size of the three Hanoverian armies that have been gathered to destroy you.’
These words did nothing to dispel Murray’s anger. ‘Damn them all for the craven liars that they are! They promise their support and yet, despite all that we have achieved, they now turn their back on us! May they rot in hell!’ The general crushed the offending letter in his hand. ‘We will continue to march on London and, when we are victorious without them, I’ll see they get what they deserve for such base deception!’
‘There is a reason for their cowardice, my lord,’ interrupted Jones, facing him squarely, ‘though it is not one that would make me abandon my promised service to the true king.’
‘And what is this reason?’
For a moment Jones found himself unable to answer. All now rested on whether he could make Lord Murray believe his cause was lost and the immensity of the moment rendered him speechless.
‘I asked for the reason, sir, and I am not used to being kept waiting!’
‘My apologies, sir,’ replied Jones, finding his voice, ‘but I dread having to give you the news that I bring. It is not just the scale of the forces gathered against us, it is where those armies are. As we speak, two of the government armies are almost upon you – not only that of Cumberland, whom you have so far avoided, but the much larger army from London. I believe Wade’s army is also no longer at Newcastle but rapidly moving south. The intention is to surround and destroy you as soon as you cross the Trent. The English Jacobites know this and fear your cause is already lost. It was to prevent me telling you about the perilous nearness of the enemy forces that I was pursued by a government agent called Jones.’ He paused for effect. ‘Fortunately I was able to dispatch him, though not before I sustained the injuries that you can see.’
All the energy drained from Murray’s countenance at this devastating information. When he spoke, it was with a voice that had temporarily lost its authority. ‘There are times, sir, when ignorance is better than knowledge. Your news is the worst I have received since I first started serving the House of Stuart over thirty years ago. My father called me a fool for joining in the rebellions in 1715 and 1719 but I ignored him and paid the price for my loyalty through years of exile. I have again followed my conscience against the wishes of friends and family but, until your news, I had believed victory was this time within our grasp.’ The pain in his eyes was clearly visible. ‘You have robbed me of any chance of sleep this night, Mr Burnett, because now I must think what I should advise the prince to do. Do we march on to almost certain death in order to retain our reputation, or do we return to Scotland with our tail between our legs in the hope that we can live to fight another day?’
He turned to leave the room and then, remembering his manners, looked back at Jones. ‘I ha
ve already given orders for you to be fed. Go and take proper refreshment and rest. I will need you beside me first thing tomorrow morning, whatever I decide.’
‘Thank you, my lord. I am only sorry that I cannot be the bearer of better news.’
That night it was not only the general who did not sleep. Tom Jones slept but fitfully. He knew that he had sown the right seeds but whether they would bear the fruit he hoped was still uncertain. It was therefore with much anxiety that he accompanied a Highlander back to Lord Murray’s quarters early on the morning of 5 December. As on the previous evening, he had to wait to be taken into the commander’s presence. When he did enter the audience room the atmosphere was distinctly cold. Though desperate to know the outcome of his deception, he stood silently for what seemed an eternity, judging correctly that he should let Lord Murray speak first.
When the veteran soldier did speak it was in a voice that commanded his respect because it gave no hint of the internal agonies that Murray had suffered throughout the intervening hours since he had first met Jones. ‘With deep regret I have decided that the news that you brought gives me no alternative but to argue for a rapid retreat. I therefore wish you to come with me to where His Royal Highness is lodged in Exeter House in Full Street. I need you because His Royal Highness does not understand military matters as I do. Make no mistake about it, Mr Burnett, it will not be easy to persuade him to agree.’
